


if we stop keeping a secret

by sweetwinegift



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: 3+1, Established Relationship, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sneaking Around, friendly reminder that i would both kill AND die for all four of these idiots, just nico in general is pierre's kink tho so, pierre's hair is highkey nico's kink and honestly? same, they're just all very soft okay, this was going to be 5+1 but i ran out of idea so like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwinegift/pseuds/sweetwinegift
Summary: “You’re impossible,” mutters Nico, not bothering to reply just yet.Pierre scrunches his nose. “I am,” he agrees, so easily that he delights in the suspicion immediately lighting up Nico’s blue gaze. “But you still like me.”“Do I?” asks Nico, sceptical.//aka- three times that Richard and Benoit (probably) don't know about Pierre and Nico, and the one time that they (definitely) do





	if we stop keeping a secret

**Author's Note:**

> it's 11pm on christmas and i probably have better things to be doing than writing and posting this but here we are! i'm very tired so i apologise in advance for how badly edited this is  
> this is, as usual, fiction  
> title from 'keeping a secret' by bleachers

** if we stop keeping a secret **

****

_1._

-

 

Pierre’s not sure he’ll ever get used to this: falling asleep beside Nico, and- perhaps even more exhilaratingly- waking up beside him, too. The sunlight that cuts through Nico’s bedroom is a reminder that they’re on vacation, free to sleep late and do entirely as they please.

As it is, what Pierre pleases is little more than turning away from the window and smiling to himself as he rolls right into Nico’s chest. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice muffled as he presses his face against Nico’s neck.

Nico, barely awake, moves a hand lazily along Pierre’s side, stopping to grab more firmly at his hip, just above his waistband. “Go back to sleep,” he replies, not even opening his eyes as the tired words slip out.

Glancing past Nico to the clock on the opposite wall, Pierre drops a kiss to Nico’s shoulder. And then another, and another; he keeps it up until Nico lets out a low moan, pulls Pierre closer. “It’s almost twelve,” says Pierre, laughing a little from the resumed movements of Nico’s fingers. “Better things to do than sleep.” He tilts his head back, bites lightly at Nico’s lower lip until Nico relents and kisses him properly.

Pierre doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to _that_ , either.

Probably, at some point in his life, his first act upon waking wouldn’t have been to make out with just a little too much tongue. He would’ve insisted on brushing his teeth first, at least, but this is Nico and they’ve been doing this too long for Pierre to care anymore.

Nico’s hand makes its way beneath Pierre’s waistband, and Pierre breaks the kiss with a startled gasp. “ _Fuck_ ,” he chokes out, already breathless. He starts kissing Nico’s neck, and when Nico’s movements go from slow to determined, he bites down on Nico’s shoulder as he comes.

It takes a moment for the stars to clear from Pierre’s vision, and Nico’s smiling at him when they do. “Morning,” he says, and the smug tone is enough to turn Pierre on all over again.

 

-

 

After they’re done waking each other up, Pierre showers while Nico goes to pick up breakfast because, in his words, Pierre is eating him out of house and home. Pierre wants to make a sly comment about being a growing boy, but figures if he does then they’ll just get naked again- not that he’s opposed to this, obviously, but they _do_ need to eat, and Pierre’s pretty sure the only thing left in the kitchen is a bunch of old grapes.

They haven’t left the house in a week; they’ve been _busy_.

Pierre finishes first, and is sitting on the bed with a towel tied around his waist and his hair still dripping all over Nico’s expensive sheets. He hears the door open a few minutes later, and the welcome sound of grocery bags being dropped onto the kitchen counter.

“You forgot your phone,” yells Pierre, who’s spent the past five or so minutes silently- and, at truly offensive discoveries, verbally- judging Nico’s music library. “I could’ve _died,_ and I wouldn’t have even been able to call you.”

Nico yells back, “I’m making eggs!” He pauses, and his exasperation is obvious when he continues. “If you were dead you couldn’t call me anyway.”

Well. That’s a fair point, but Pierre is still about to refute it when he’s cut off by the phone in question ringing. “Can you get that?” asks Nico, just as Pierre hears him start cracking the eggs.

“Sure,” says Pierre, and then, delighted, “It’s Richard!”

“Wait, Pierre, don’t-”

Too late; Pierre’s already answered. “Hi, Richie,” he says cheerfully. “What’s up?”

There’s a beat of silence. “… Pierre?” says Richard, his voice laced with confusion.

That’s when Pierre realises his mistake. He and Nico have been together for _months_ now, but the thing is, they haven’t actually told anyone yet. In fact, they’ve made a conscious effort to keep it quiet; they don’t think anyone will care, not really, but there’s still going to be a lot of questions.

And there’s always the chance that people _will_ care. Probably not Richard, though.

Richard is apologising. “Sorry, I meant to call Nico,” he says, and then he’s letting out a low laugh. “You two are together so much that even _I’m_ starting to confuse you.”

Honestly, what’s Pierre supposed to say to that? Nico appears in the doorway, spatula in hand and with an almost comically horrified expression on his face as he gestures wildly with his spatula-free hand. He’s clearly trying to communicate something here, but Pierre isn’t a mind reader, so he turns away.

“No, uh, this _is_ Nico’s phone,” he says, clearing his throat. He holds up a hand to keep Nico quiet.

Richard goes silent for another moment. “But I thought you were on vacation,” he says, and Pierre might not be able to see him, but he just _knows_ those brows are furrowed.

Pierre fights back a sigh. “I am on vacation,” he says. He puts the call on speaker and hopes Richard won’t notice. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh,” says Richard. “I just thought you were on vacation alone. Without Nico.”

Ah. Yes, there is that. “Right,” says Pierre. “Yes, right, but it’s actually a funny story. See, we accidentally switched phones back in Lille, and I was already out of the country before we noticed so I, uh, still have Nico’s phone. Isn’t that _funny_ , Richie?”

Pierre sincerely hopes Richard doesn’t pay enough attention to them to know that their phones aren’t even the same colour, let alone model. He glances behind him to see Nico covering his eyes before heading back to the kitchen, which he thinks is a little unfair; he’s totally got this whole situation under control.

Scrambling to his feet, he follows Nico out of the bedroom, stopping only to grab his own phone as well. “So, if you’re looking for Nico, you should call me,” he concludes. “Well, my phone, not me, because I’m absolutely not anywhere near Nico right now. Or, I think I’m not, because actually, I have no idea where Nico is! Good talking with you, Richard.”

That’s not suspicious at all, and Pierre hangs up while Richard is still in the middle of, very confusedly, thanking him.

“I think he bought it,” announces Pierre, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Do you think he bought it?”

Nico, groaning, flips their eggs. “He’s an idiot if he did,” he says. “Was that really the best you could come up with?”

There’s no time for Pierre to reply; there’s a beep, and this time it’s Pierre’s phone that’s lighting up with a text. Richard wants to make lunch plans for next week. “It’s for you,” says Pierre, grinning, and slides the phone across the counter to Nico.

“You’re impossible,” mutters Nico, not bothering to reply just yet.

Pierre scrunches his nose. “I am,” he agrees, so easily that he delights in the suspicion immediately lighting up Nico’s blue gaze. “But you still like me.”

“Do I?” asks Nico, sceptical. Pierre purposefully stretches, and Nico’s eyes darken as they trace the movement; Nico swallows, bites his lip, and Pierre _wants_. “Drop the towel.”

Pierre wastes no time in doing as he’s told.

 

-

 

They burn the eggs, but the good news is: when Nico goes to lunch with Richard a week later, he happily reports that Richard doesn’t seem to have any doubts whatsoever about their utterly ridiculous story.

 

-

 

_2._

-

It takes them a final-set tiebreak that ends at 14-12, but Pierre and Nico are back in the final of the Australian Open for the first time in four years, since the first and only Slam final they’ve lost together.

Pierre’s taken his hat off and is running a hand through his hair while squinting up into the sun and the quickly disappearing crowd. He’s trying not to look at Nico, who’s talking about how important their serves have been this tournament.

Nico’s sweaty and still a little breathless, and Pierre’s thoughts are entirely inappropriate for a tennis court.

On-court interviews, in Pierre’s opinion, are highly unnecessary, though he’s self-aware enough to admit he might just be irritated because this one in particular is all that’s getting in the way of him and what he wants.

Everything’s a bit blurry right now, so he’s not entirely sure _what_ he wants, but it definitely involves Nico’s shorts around his ankles and quite possibly Pierre on his knees.

That’s usually what Pierre wants. He has a bit of a one-track mind, but Nico’s certainly not complaining.

Nico, as it is, seems to sense the state Pierre’s in, and is teasing him mercilessly about it. It’s likely that nobody else notices what he’s doing as he drapes an arm over Pierre’s shoulders and lets his fingers trail unbearably lightly along Pierre’s arm, but Pierre sure notices.

There’s a decent chance he might burst into flames.

Thankfully, though, he _doesn’t_ burst into flames, and the interview wraps up quickly, but Nico’s hip against Pierre’s is sending electricity throughout Pierre’s entire body. They’re leaving the court together, and every time their hands accidentally- well, Pierre’s not actually convinced it’s entirely accidental- brush, Pierre has to squeeze his eyes shut to concentrate on not doing something really stupid, like shoving his hand down Nico’s pants right there in the tunnel.

The gratification probably isn’t worth the inevitable ramifications.

It might be, though.

No- Pierre doesn’t even let himself consider it. Instead, he’s spectacularly well-behaved and patient as they make their way to the locker room, doing his best to not let his frustration show because he doesn’t want to give Nico the satisfaction.

Not _that_ kind of satisfaction, anyway.

If there’s one thing Pierre’s grateful for, it’s that the showers here in Melbourne have actual cubicles. He’s been in locker rooms that don’t before, and while he doesn’t really have a problem with getting naked in front of people, they’re not at all conducive to the things he wants to do right now.

There are a _lot_ of things he wants to do, and an audience would make them all difficult.

Their opponents must have made record time- or were just too depressed to shower- because they’ve already cleared out, and Pierre’s grateful for that, too, as he pushes Nico into the furthest cubicle from the lockers.

“You,” he says, tugging Nico’s shirt up over his head. “Are going to be the death of me.” A simple statement, and perhaps an overused one, but it’s certainly accurate. The way Pierre’s heartbeat quickens whenever Nico so much as touches him _cannot_ be healthy.

Nico’s answering laugh turns into more of a gasping moan when Pierre attaches his lips to Nico’s neck, leaving a trail of bruising kisses. They’ll probably leave marks, but hopefully no one will notice, and regardless, Pierre’s pretty sure Nico’s too turned on to care.

Reluctantly, Pierre pulls back to hastily remove his own shirt, and the rest of their clothes quickly follow. He reaches behind Nico to turn the shower on, and catches him by the waist to manoeuvre them both under the water. It’s too hot but when he hisses through his teeth, he’s not sure whether it’s from the heat or the way Nico’s nails are biting into his skin as Nico presses kisses along Pierre’s collarbones and chest.

The hand that isn’t busy scratching up Pierre’s back starts moving down toward his cock instead, but Pierre knocks it away; Pierre has _plans_. The locker room’s deserted, but Pierre smirks and motions for Nico to keep quiet even as he’s dropping to his knees, even as he’s wrapping a hand around Nico.

Nico, to his credit, does keep quiet. Pierre glances up the tanned, muscled lines of Nico’s body as he takes Nico’s cock in his mouth, and is rewarded with the sight of Nico biting his lip so hard that Pierre’s surprised he isn’t bleeding.

It’s all going spectacularly until they both hear the locker room door swing open, and it really speaks volumes about Pierre’s character that he doesn’t immediately cease and desist.

Whoever it is must see their bags still thrown haphazardly on the floor, because a voice is calling out, “Pierre! Nico! Winners!”

Fucking hell. Pierre pulls back and mouths, vaguely horrified, “ _Benoit?”_

Of course it’s Benoit.

Nico, clearly panicking, responds by pushing Pierre away, which is ridiculous because as if Benoit walking in on them, naked, while Pierre’s on his knees is any less incriminating than Benoit walking in on them, naked, while Pierre has Nico’s cock halfway down his throat.  

Not that Benoit’s actually going to walk in on them, because Pierre locked the stall. Didn’t he? He glances over just to check, and breathes a sigh of relief when he confirms that their cubicle is firmly- well, maybe _firmly_ is a bit of an overstatement- barricaded.

And what’s Benoit doing here, anyway?

Nico, who has apparently gained the ability to read Pierre’s thoughts, calls out, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you!” replies Benoit, and, well, _fair enough_. He’s certainly found them. “Where’s Pierre?”

Nico looks helplessly down at Pierre, who’s covering his mouth with the back of his hand to keep himself from laughing. It’s not working too well; his shoulders are shaking almost violently. “Not here,” says Nico, after a moment. “He’s… finished.”

That almost sets Pierre off entirely as he glances down at where he’s still painfully hard. Nothing about him is _finished_.

Benoit, thankfully, seems to think this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Call me later,” he yells in response. “Are you free tonight? We want to take you out to dinner!”

Nico doesn’t bother asking who ‘we’ is, but knowing Benoit it’s probably the entire French speaking population of Melbourne. He looks at Pierre again, clearly seeking some form of assistance, but Pierre’s committed to being perpetually difficult, so he just shrugs.

Rolling his eyes, Nico loudly agrees to Benoit’s plan, but he manages to make it sound like a question. It works, though, because a minute later there’s the obvious sound of the door closing behind him.

“That was _fun_ ,” says Pierre, not even trying to hide his wide grin.

Nico responds by lightly tugging at Pierre’s hair and twisting his fingers through the dark curls. Pierre, who knows how to take a hint, licks his lips and gets back to work.

 

-

 

Dinner with Benoit, as predicted, seems to involve every French tennis player on the planet and a fair few people neither Pierre nor Nico have ever even met. It’s nice, though, and everyone else is too drunk to notice if Pierre’s hand keeps roaming a little too high on Nico’s thigh.

 

-

 

_3._

-

 

It’s Richard’s birthday, and he’s turning thirty-something, which in Pierre’s opinion makes him far too old to be celebrating in a club. Then again, it’s not Richard’s fault they’re just nearing the front of the queue at the bar- it is, like so many things, entirely Benoit’s fault.

Pierre’s drunk and things are already starting to get a little hazy, but he definitely remembers that it was Benoit who’d started pouring the shots, Benoit who’d not taken _no_ for an answer when he’d insisted they all go out, and most importantly it was Benoit who’d ordered the Uber.

What were they supposed to do, just not get in it? That would’ve been rude.

Nico’s the soberest of them all, which isn’t surprising. He is, as Pierre had so affectionately mentioned, on the brink of becoming a senior citizen, but Richard had responded on Nico’s behalf that maybe Pierre himself just isn’t that great at holding his liquor.

An unwelcome but certainly valid point; Pierre’s notoriously a lightweight.

Someone stumbles into Pierre and Pierre, in turn, stumbles into Richard. Nico casually reaches out and pulls Pierre back into a more upright position. It doesn’t work exactly as intended; Pierre bounces from Richard’s side right into Nico’s, and Nico slips a hand into the pocket of Pierre’s jeans to keep him there.

“I can’t believe they even let you in,” he says, and the raw fondness in his voice nearly kicks the breath right out of Pierre’s lungs.

They finally reach the front of the queue, and Benoit orders a round of double shots for everyone, grinning mostly in Richard’s direction as he announces he won’t let them stop until they’re all as drunk as Pierre already was an hour ago.

Pierre feels like maybe he should be offended, but he doesn’t have the energy for it at the moment, so he just knocks back the shots, one after the other. He’s drunk enough now that the alcohol doesn’t even make him scrunch up his nose in disgust.

He is not, however, drunk enough that he misses the way Nico’s gaze follows the movement of Pierre’s throat as he swallows down the tequila, not drunk enough to miss the _want_ etched into every line of Nico’s face.

Nico’s not the only one wanting. Pierre’s mouth tastes of salt and lime; he wishes it could taste like Nico.

Oblivious to the heat building between Pierre and Nico, Benoit leads the small group through the writhing bodies on the dance floor until he, miraculously, finds them a booth. He lightly pushes Richard along and then slides in beside him, gesturing for Nico and Pierre to follow.

It takes Pierre a moment too long to react, and Nico wraps his fingers around his wrist to tug him down. Richard and Benoit both notice the gesture; Benoit is unconcerned, laughing at Pierre’s obvious intoxication, but Richard squints at where Nico’s hand has already disappeared from for a moment longer before he shrugs it off and takes a sip of the beer he’d brought over with them.

That one sip is all he gets, it seems, because Benoit throws an arm lazily around Richard’s shoulders and, having effectively distracted him, picks up the plastic cup for himself.

Nico’s hand is resting on Pierre’s knee, and Pierre just barely resists the urge to pull it higher.

Pierre flops back against the padded seat of the booth, and his shoulder knocks into Nico’s. He glances up to see Nico smiling down at him, and feels his heart skip a beat.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s not much more than a whisper against the noise of the club, but he knows Nico hears it because his features soften just like they always do. Pierre feels a furious blush spread across his cheeks, even though this is far from the first time he’s said it, even though he knows Nico feels the same. He still gets a rush every time he thinks it; that he, Pierre-Hugues Herbert, is in love with Nicolas Mahut, and Nicolas Mahut loves him, too.

Except he mustn’t have been as quiet as he’d thought, because Benoit interrupts before Nico can reply. “We _know_!” he yells, loud even over the music, and Pierre’s eyes go very wide before he continues. “Everyone loves Nico. Nico’s the _man_ , man!”

Oh.

Richard’s looking between Pierre and Nico again, and it seems like he wants to say something, but intoxication’s clouding his gaze and he’s thoroughly distracted by Benoit jumping up and declaring they’re going to dance.

Benoit looks expectantly at Pierre and Nico, but Nico shakes his head and makes up some excuse about sobering Pierre up a bit first. That’s not the worst idea he’s ever had, and Benoit doesn’t seem to care as he takes Richard by the elbow and leads him onto the dance floor.

With the room now left free at the booth, Nico shuffles back to where Richard had been sitting, and Pierre pulls his legs up into the spare space it makes between them. Nico starts running his hands absently up and down Pierre’s calves.

“We should leave,” says Pierre, tilting his head to the side and resting it on the seat. His eyes close as Nico starts applying a little more pressure.

“We can’t leave,” says Nico.

Pierre can hear the smile in his voice, as well as a faint reluctance, and he knows he’s right. Still, he doesn’t really want to let it go. He opens his eyes again, flashes his most blinding smile. “We should go fuck in the bathroom.”

That catches Nico by surprise, and he lets out a delighted laugh, but he still shakes his head. “Are you kidding?” he asks, pulling Pierre’s feet into his lap. “We can’t leave poor Richie on his own. Benoit will eat him alive.”

Pierre cranes his neck to find them, and Nico definitely has a point. He can see them through the heavy crowd, Benoit’s limbs flailing wildly in what Pierre supposes is an imitation of dancing, and Richard is looking distinctly uncomfortable as he tries to keep up.

Well, at least he’s trying.

“Hey,” says Nico, leaning forward and briefly cupping Pierre’s cheek before letting his fingers slide into his hair. He lightly pulls at the curls until Pierre locks eyes with him again. “I love you, too.”

Pierre only smiles wider.

 

-

 

_+1_

__

-

 

“Let’s get married,” says Pierre softly one night, his head in Nico’s lap and his eyes closed as Nico plays with his hair. They’re on the couch in Benoit’s apartment, and Benoit and Richard had disappeared onto the balcony a few minutes ago.

The soothing quiet is making Pierre contemplative.

“Let’s get _what_?” replies Nico, sounding incredulous.

Pierre tries- and fails- to not let the disbelief in Nico’s voice sting. He winces, opening his eyes and looking up into Nico’s wide blue gaze. “Married,” he repeats. “I know this isn’t a very romantic proposal, but I do have a ring.” He frowns. “Well, not here, but I _do_ have one. It’s in the car; I could go and get it?”

Does he sound desperate? He thinks he might sound desperate. This isn’t going well. He moves to get up, but Nico drapes an arm across his stomach to keep him firmly in place.

“You want to marry me?” asks Nico, as if Pierre hasn’t said it _twice_ now. This _really_ isn’t going well.

Pierre swallows and nods. “I really, really love you, you know that?”

Nico cracks a smile, which Pierre figures is a good sign. “I’ve noticed,” he says, and honestly, the amusement in his voice is more than a little irritating. Pierre’s considering taking the proposal back when Nico opens his mouth again. “ _Yes_ , Pierre, I’ll marry you. Of course I will.”

“You’ll marry me? Really?” asks Pierre, because one can never be too sure about these things.

Nico’s smile becomes positively luminous. “Yes,” he confirms, and then leans down to kiss Pierre before Pierre can accidentally talk one or both of them out of it.

The kiss is slow, which is frustrating for Pierre, who kind of just wants Nico to fuck him right here and now. This is Benoit’s couch they’re on, though, so they probably shouldn’t have sex on it- and, even if they were going to, they’re interrupted by a very polite, very Richard-like cough.

Pierre breaks away, turns his head to find Richard and Benoit are no longer on the balcony. Richard’s eyebrows are practically hidden inside his hair and Benoit’s mouth is actually, _literally_ hanging open.

“Uh, surprise?” says Nico, obviously sharing Pierre’s thought that they might not be able to talk their way out of this one.

Well, they might as well get it all out at once, thinks Pierre. “Yes, surprise!” he says, managing to sound a lot less confused about it than Nico. “Also, we’re getting married, and if you stop looking so shocked we might even invite you to the wedding.”

A slow smirk pulls at Richard’s mouth.

Benoit grins madly and jumps on them- literally jumps on them, that is, leaping onto the couch and practically vibrating with excitement as his knee knocks into Pierre’s thigh, dangerously close to where it would really hurt. He ruffles Pierre’s hair, and Pierre makes a face as he tries to duck out of the way.

“You _guys_ ,” says Benoit, pressing numerous kisses to Nico’s cheeks. “We should have a double wedding!”

Nico looks vaguely horrified. “We are _not_ having a double wedding.”

Pierre squints in confusion. “Who would you even be marrying?”

“Good point,” says Benoit, and then glances over at Richard. “Richie, marry me?”

Nico snorts, and Pierre laughs so hard he knocks Benoit off entirely. He crashes to the ground, and poor Richard just watches on with abject terror in his eyes. “I need to be drunk right now,” says Richard, after the moment it takes him to recover, blatantly ignoring Benoit as he continues to shout proposals at him.

The night falls apart rather quickly after that, with Richard opening Benoit’s best wine despite’s Benoit’s very loud protests, and Benoit insisting no less than four times that they all get on the next flight to Vegas so Pierre and Nico can get married as soon as possible and ' _in style_.'

Pierre doesn’t say so, but as he quietly tangles his and Nico’s fingers together, he doesn’t think that’s the worst idea he’s ever heard.

**Author's Note:**

> love hearing ur thoughts :)


End file.
